


Took a Market of Filth

by RivRe



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Biromantic!Daniel Sousa, Canon Disabled Character, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Most OCs are just here for the sex, Much dark. So grittiness. Wow., Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Pining!Jack Thompson, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, Pre-Slash, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, but lbrh so are you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6818650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivRe/pseuds/RivRe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack wasn't much the religious type for a whole bunch of reasons. And yet he'd ended up with a rosary tucked behind some pill bottles in his medicine cabinet. <i>God, Jesus, whoever you are,</i> he begged, half-mouthing the words, <i>Please make it stop, make that be the last of it. Please let it be over now.</i> He kissed the rosary. <i>Please just let me be whole. </i></p><p>In which Jack loves his coworker from a distance, and looks for comfort in other places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sold Like Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecat_13145](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecat_13145/gifts).



> This was something I wanted to write for a really long time, and then thecat finally convinced me to get to it. It wasn't supposed to be 12,000 words, but I hope you're glad that it is. It also wasn't supposed to be Rated E, but if I was going to venture into the land of gay porn writing eventually, JackDaniels as good a place to start as any, I guess.
> 
> Work and chapter titles come from The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty, from Panic! at the Disco's latest album, which came out right around the time that Agent Carter season two was airing. It's a very good song, imho, and I listened to it (as well as Golden Days and Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time, from that same album) many times while writing this story.
> 
> Please read the tags! There are a few warnings and things, most of them very brief mentions, that you may want to heed.

"Daniel," he gasped, the name rolling off his tongue in a way it only did when he was just like this, legs in the air and hands clutching the sheets. "Daniel, please." At work, when he was sober and in control of himself, Jack never let himself call the other agent by his first name, but when he was in his bedroom, like this...

The other man rolled his hips, pressing deeper into Jack and making him moan again. He pushed just a little closer just as he finished off, his peak bringing Jack over the edge as well with Daniel's name perched on the edge of his tongue, ready to fly away.

Samuel rolled over, grabbing a handful of tissues from the nightstand. "You've got issues to work through, buddy."

"Yeah, well I'm not paying you to be my shrink," Jack bit back. He tried to think of something meaner to say, something about having sex with a man whose last name you don't even know, but it would just sound pitiful, and his brain was still sluggish, the need for a drink setting in. Jack could never be anywhere near sober when he could still feel the remnants of another man dripping out of him. He reached across Samuel's supine body for the bottle of whiskey sitting next to the tissue box and lube. Everything he needed for an evening of fun and misery all together, nice and tidy.

He took a drink straight from the half-empty bottle. Shit. He'd just bought it yesterday.

"You're not paying me very much at all," Samuel was saying. "Barely covering my cab back home, if we're being honest."

"Then pretend I'm paying you in not telling your wife what you're up to all these evenings, how about that?" Jack shot back. The fuzziness was finally starting to inch back from his brain, and he took another gulp.

"My wife don't give a damn, remember?"

"Nope," Jack cut in, but Samuel hadn't waited for him to answer, just kept talking.

"She does whatever she wants to stay happy on her end, I take care of my business on my end. We share a house, raise a kid, and that's it. Don't need questions anymore."

"Well, don't worry. I didn't ask you any. You can stop answering whene'er you want." Jack rolled into an upright position, resting his elbows on his knees and slouching forward, his back to the other man, still lying comfortably on his mattress like he belonged there.

Maybe he did. Maybe Jack shouldn't kick him out just yet. Maybe there should be at least one person able to appreciate what a damn good bed this was, able to just lie down on it and get some undisturbed sleep, unhaunted by the demons that followed him from across the water and kept spawning.

Samuel was talking again. He talked so damn much. Jack ignored him, instead grabbing a handful of tissues and trying to minimize the mess as he headed to the bathroom to clean up. Samuel had already come by earlier in the week, and Jack didn't have another clean bedsheet to switch this one out. In case he didn't feel dirty enough about the whole thing.

Jack wasn't much the religious type for a whole bunch of reasons. And yet he'd ended up with a rosary tucked behind some pill bottles in his medicine cabinet, and he'd fallen into the habit of pulling it out every time he came in here to clean someone else off him. He'd cross himself and mutter a prayer. It was as much a part of his post-coital ritual as brushing his teeth or rinsing with a washcloth.

The words of the prayer, too, were as familiar as the muttered stream of curses as he rinsed his stinging, sensitive flesh. _God, Jesus, whoever you are,_ he begged, half-mouthing the words, half-whispering them,  _Please make it stop, make that be the last of it. Please let it be over now._ He kissed the rosary.  _Please just let me be whole._

Jack brushed his teeth, washed his face, gargled water. He met his haggard gaze in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed with dark circles like bruises. Two day old stubble stood up angrily. He looked like he'd been through hell and back.

The mirror was flecked with several days worth of tooth paste and was begging to be washed. Jack considered it, but he could barely muster up the energy to rinse his toothbrush off, then.

The rosary was tucked in the back of the medicine cabinet. The toothbrush was returned to it's little cup beside the sink. The now-sticky washcloth was tossed in a bin with several others. Jack hand-washed those when he had the time, too ashamed to let them see outside of those four tiled walls.

When he dragged his feet back to his bedroom, Samuel was gone, thank God, the five dollar bill Jack had left with the lube and whiskey gone with him. Jack pushed open a window, hoping the sweaty stench of sex would be replaced by something better, but it was October in New York City and the wind just howled at him, blowing in cold air and the smell of already-rotting leaves.

Jack came pretty damn close to finishing the bottle before he passed out on his bed, one sock still on.


	2. All of the Good Girls Act So Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for straight sex, i guess? sorry. because only on ao3 do you have to apologize for that. :D Also I didn't include a warning for this in the tags but there's a throwaway line about something not 100% consensual happening in the past, early on in this chapter.
> 
> Yes, I'm aware that I don't know how to write chapters with even lengths.

Jack didn't care how much they made him look like an asshole, he was wearing shades into the office. Besides, everyone already thought he was a total dick, what harm could it possible do?

"Morning, chief!" Rose offered cheerily as he walked by. He nodded his head at her. Rose was the only one in this whole damn office who was civil to him and actually meant it sometimes.

"Ah, Chief Thompson," Carter offered him as he walked past her desk, trying to make it across the bullpen as quickly as possible without showing any signs of the limp Samuel always worked so hard to leave him with, no matter how much he protested. "Fun night last night?"

"Always is when I can get out of here before eleven." He gave her a smile, all teeth. "How was the evening shift yesterday?"

"Largely quiet, actually. Agent Sousa and I took to organizing some old files for most of the time."

"Taking initiative on a boring night. I like it." He cocked his index finger like a gun at her, knowing the whole thing was fairly patronizing, and stepped back into his office.

Sighing tiredly, Jack shut the blinds first on his window to the bullpen, then limped across the room to do the same to his windows to the outside world. Room finally dark, he collapsed into his desk chair, pulled off his sunglasses, and fished a bottle of whiskey out from it's hiding place, tucked beneath a stack of old papers in the bottom drawer.

 

Forty minutes later, not long after he'd actually started to get nominally functional and shuffle things around on his desk, there was a knock on his door.

"Yeah?"

Sousa peered his head around the door, and Jack felt his heart skip a beat on its way up to his throat. "Peggy told me you looked more dead than alive when you came in this morning, so I brought you something to help." He held up the cup of coffee like an offering, waiting to see if Thompson would take it.

He didn't want to. He didn't want Daniel Sousa stepping further into his office and hobbling up, lingering a few minutes and making small talk while Jack tasted his coffee and told him how bad it was, because he didn't know how to give the agent a compliment.

But then the smell of it wafted into the room, and Jack couldn't resist motioning with his hand for Sousa to enter, bring him the cup.

"It's good stuff," he said after he'd taken the first sip. "You're finally figuring out just how I like it." Because he didn't have the energy to be entirely mean, only mostly so.

"Just in time for me to get out of here." Sousa grinned.

"Yeah?" Jack leaned back in his chair, looking up at the brunette towering above him. The smell of the jo alone was already turning him back into a human, if only a little bit. "You get a response back?"

"Well, they haven't rejected my application yet, so I'm feeling pretty good about it," Sousa confessed. "A few months and I might see myself sitting in one of these comfy chairs, enjoying an office of my very own to seclude myself in and sulk." He grinned to lighten the jab. It still stung a little. It always did, coming from Sousa.

"Well, if you think anything can top the gunk and grime of New York City, you can go try and enjoy it." Jack shrugged. "Just make sure if you actually get that position that you make some time for the outdoors, that California sun I've been hearing about."

"Yeah? You been hearing about the New York sun too?" Sousa gestured with his chin at the shuttered windows. "Maybe you'd get a bit of a feel for those outdoors if you let them into your sad, little office some more."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jack tried to grin, tried to take the insults lightly, but today he just didn't have the energy, not for any of it. "Go get to work, Susan." It was the only response he could muster, the nickname the only way he could think to respond. He was just so damn tired.

"Get out of your office a bit, chief," Sousa responded, starting his slow trudge out. "Stretch those legs while you've still got two of 'em." He grinned, and Jack threw a pen just as the door shut behind him.

So damn tired.

 

She was eyeing him from down the bar. Jack couldn't figure out why. His hair was a mess, one of his suspender straps had fallen down and he hadn't picked it up yet, and his shirt was slowly getting more and more untucked. Oh, and he was halfway through his second pint.

He didn't want to go back to his apartment. He'd run out of food and his bedsheets were still all messed up, scrunched with the ghosts of his clenched fists and twisted between phantom legs.

Sighing, he called the bartender over, ordered another drink for the dame with the striking brown eyes and the eye-catching green dress. A minute later, she took her drink and came over to sit beside him, her knee bumping against his thigh as she settled into her seat. "Danielle," she introduced herself.

Shit.

"Jack." He tried to be short, tried to keep his voice from cracking.

"Such a pleasure, Jack," she purred. "See, I was sitting down there, all by myself, watching you eye me up, wondering when you'd come over."

"I had a drink in front of me," he pointed out. "Was a little preoccupied."

She leaned in a little bit, resting her hand on his thigh. "I think I can preoccupy you with somethin' else."

Shitshit.

"Thing is, though, Jack, that I don't like get played with. Not so big on being--" Her hand moved a little higher, squeezing gently "--teased."

He hadn't been with a woman in a few weeks. Maybe he was drunk enough to try again. Jack turned to face her, licked his lips and met her eyes.

"Good. Me either. Wanna not tease each other somewhere else?"

She quirked a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him, pursing her lips. Jack shoveled out a couple dollars to pay for his drinks, and stood, offering Danielle a hand up. Her fingers were warm in his.

"Thing is, my apartment's not so suitable for a respectable woman like yourself," Jack confessed. His shy grin made him look ashamed of it, but the cadence of his words and the way his hands brushed her hips was anything but.

"I'm not too far from here." Danielle reached out her arm, flagging a cab on her own. Jack held open the door for her.

It was a short ride, not more than four or five minutes in the late evening New York traffic, but Jack was nothing if not efficient. He was already acquainting himself with her body, with the curve of her breasts and the shape of her lips, memorizing the lines of her thighs and testing out the curves of her knees and elbows.

Her apartment was only a two story walk up, but Jack was a little bit drunk and it still took him a minute to stagger up there, his rush only impeding him. Danielle laughed at him.

"How much did you say you had to drink?"

"Not nearly enough," he slurred. Which was true. Jack was never as drunk as he acted. He got his tolerance from his father. But it was so much easier to seem like it was a physical struggle to get himself through the door of her apartment. Focusing on the acting was a good distraction from how hard it actually was for him to bring himself in, to pull off his suspenders and open his shirt.

As soon as he was out of the shirt, he sat down hard on the little couch, looking up as Danielle got undressed as well. When she was ready, she dropped down onto his lap. Jack let his head loll back, his eyes close as he focused on the sensations. They didn't bother with niceties or introductions. No  _what do you do?_ s or  _can I get you some water?_ s.

Danielle started slowly, massaging his shoulders and biceps, reaching down to nip at his collarbone. He felt her warm hands trailing across his skin, and let his mind start drifting away, chasing the memory of a different touch.

They'd gotten into a pretty bad shootout. It should have been NYPD down there, not SSR, but there'd been some miscommunication down at the other end of things, somebody somewhere thought this was SSR domain. Really it was just a handful of no-good mafiosi, not anything even remotely in their jurisdiction.

He'd been trying to protect a junior agent. Guy had been running from cover to cover, tripped and fell. Was about to get his guts blown through, probably. Jack hadn't really thought about it, just launched himself from his crouched position behind a police car, grabbing the guy by his lapels as he ran full-tilt past him, dragging them both back to cover.

If he'd been going any slower it would have been his gut, he knew. As it was, the bullet just grazed him, right at the bottom of his ribs.

This had happened only a few months before what happened with Chief Dooley, and Jack was already complete gone for Daniel. He was sitting in the SSR locker room, Daniel kneeling on the floor beside him, patching up his side. He'd had his back against a cool locker door, his hands digging into the edge of the bench. It was half from the pain of Daniel poking him over and over again with the needle, half to keep himself in check as Daniel's cool fingers ghosted along his bare ribcage.

The brunette's breath was hot against his stomach. Her fingers trailed along a small scar on his side, moving farther south. Jack cracked his eyes open just enough to unholster his gun and leave it on the table before letting the dame get to work with the rest of his slacks.

Her hands moved lower. He could feel her breath moving down his abdomen. "Daniel," he mumbled. "Do it. Please."

"There we go," Danielle said, pleased with herself. Jack could tell this wasn't her first rodeo with a man after he'd put in a few drinks. That was always his excuse when he was slow to rise for a dame.

"Then go, go," Jack pushed, making her laugh.

"So impatient." She trailed her mouth back up his chest to his mouth, and her sass just made Jack's chest ache worse. He tried to drown himself in her lips, hoped that if he breathed the air from her mouth his lungs would seize up and he could stop living right then and there. Instead, she just bit his lower lip harder and slipped back down. His hand fisted in short, brown hair.

Jack didn't open his eyes again until Danielle withdrew from him totally, leaving a sudden chill. He obediently rolled on the condom she offered him. She shed what was left of her clothes and Jack squeezed his eyes closed again before she made it back to him, trying to ignore her settling down on top of him again, getting comfortable with her legs straddling his and her hands on his shoulders for balance. He didn't want to touch her. He didn't want her to touch him.

Jack fisted his hands at his sides. "Please," he whispered. He didn't know what he was asking for, or even who he was talking to. "Daniel, please."

She took such good care of him. The whole time, she payed such close attention to him, to his body. And it felt so damn good that Jack just wanted to believe this was happening for real.

It happened so slowly, almost quietly. A build that creeps along so subtly you don't notice it until it's right there in front of you. Jack was so rigid the whole time, he hardly budged an inch, didn't even open his eyes. It was taking all of his energies to hold back the tears threatening to leak though his lids, at that point.

When the build finally peaked, when they both came down from that ledge together, Jack opened his eyes and they were glassy. He was glad when Danielle didn't notice, too preoccupied with catching her breath. Her forehead was resting on his shoulder, their sweat mixing together as it slid down their slick bodies.

After a few minutes of staying like that, frozen in time while they tried to recollect themselves, Danielle straightened up. She kissed Jack softly and slid off his lap, retreating to the bathroom.

She returned a few minutes later, a pair of damp cloths in one hand and a tissue in the other. Jack peeled off the used condom and obediently handed it over, taking the cloth instead and trying to clean himself up a little bit.

"You got anything to drink?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Danielle shook her head. "Just water."

"That works." She gestured with her arm to the kitchen, motioning for him to go sort it out himself. Jack hauled himself to his feet, still holding the cloth, and went to go hunt down something to put back inside his body. His socked feet trod lightly across the wooden floors and when he reached tile he shivered from the chill of it. Jack felt strangely vulnerable, standing in nothing but his socks in a strange woman's kitchen, going through her cabinets looking for glasses. He finally pulled out two, the rushing of rap water replacing the scrape of glass on wooden shelves as the only sound in the house.

Danielle offered him a grateful smile when he handed her the glass. She'd wrapped herself in a sheet and curled up on the Laze-E Boy, and Jack felt a quick flare up of jealousy that she had something for her nakedness. He considered pulling his underwear back on, but the ground was so far away, and he was so tired.

Plus, he had a part to play again.

"So." Jack sat down smoothly, leaning back against the couch cushions and opening his legs a bit as he took a drink. "Thanks for that." He grinned at her.

Danielle seemed a little less impressed. "Wish I could say the same to you."

"Does that mean we're not on for next week?"

She took a sip. "You're a looker, Jack. But you're not much of a doer."

He shrugged. "You struck me as more of a take-charge type. Figured I'd let you go full-throttle. I can take the reins, if you really want."

"What a gentleman." Her voice was dry. He spread his arms in a _what can you do?_ gesture. "Tell you what. You show up same time next week sober, I'll consider letting you in the door."

"Only if next time you stock up for the afterparty."

"Bring me some flowers like a mensch and I'll consider it."

Jack put his glass on the table, finally reaching down for his clothes. Danielle watched him change, not budging or bothering to offer him any sort of privacy. Not that he needed it, of course. Jack was a grown man, and a good-looking one too. Why would he care about a pretty girl eyeing him up, especially right after they'd had sex?

"I'll see myself out."

"You'd better." She watched him go. "I'll see you next week?"

Jack turned around, leaning on the doorframe and peering around at her. He replaced his fedora on his head, twisting it smartly into place. "If you're lucky." He pulled the door shut as he turned away.

 

Outside, Jack made a beeline for the gutter and threw up.


	3. Turn the Memory to Stone

There was a car chase the next day. They'd had a perp to apprehend, and it was supposed to be run of the mill, but then he jumped through the fourth story window, slamming into the ground hard enough to make the building tremble a little and remind them why they were bringing him in to begin with, and then the perp had stolen a car and it began a hell of a chase.

Peggy had slid into the driver's seat, Jack on his heels, still swinging his door shut when Peggy hit the pedal and sent them flying down the street. Jack pulled out his gun, leaning his head as far out the window as he dared while his eyes scanned for their runaway perp.

"I've got eyes on him at eleven hundred hours," Peggy shouted, loud enough to be heard over the air whipping past Jack's ears. "Take the wheel." She didn't wait to see if he'd listen before shoving herself half out the driver's side window, practically sitting on the door as she leaned out for the shot. Jack had to scramble to get back into the car and grab the steering wheel, maneuvering one leg around to reach the pedals and keep the car steady. He heard two shots, and then Peggy swore. She hardly ever missed.

As Jack watched, the front left tire got shot out, and then the car flipped over. It looked like something he'd seen in the pictures once, with fancy stuntmen and pulleys. The car landed on it's back and bounced, then skidded down the road, stopping a few dozen yards away from a second SSR vehicle. Sousa was leaning out the window, a relieved grin on his face.

"I was really worried it would land closer," he shouted to them as they approached. The trio circled around to get a look through the driver's side door. Their perp was struggling against the steering wheel pressing way too far into his stomach. Unbreakable skin didn't bring superhuman strength along with it, it seemed.

Sousa was looking very pleased with himself, and Jack had to glue his eyes to the perp to keep them off his little smirk, and the way he shoved his hands in his pockets, almost shy with how satisfied he was.

"Good. He doesn't seem to be going anyplace now." Jack's voice was gruff, a little husky as he started barking out orders. He chalked it up to the smoke now coming off the car. "Carter, call in the fire department, get them to bring in one of those machines of theirs to cut this thing apart. Make sure one of our teams supervises the operation, I want at least five men on hand to bring him in. And clear the area a bit, we never know when this thing'll blow completely. Sousa, with me. We have to go back, check Captain America over here's apartment, look for any signs of how he couldn't gotten himself this way." Jack started leading the way back towards his car.

"He never had unbreakable skin."

"Excuse me?" Jack turned back away, but Peggy was just shaking her head.

"I said that I'd like to come with you," she said. "Back to the apartment. When we were driving over here this morning, you speculated that there might actually be a connection to the super-soldier serum. If that is true, I can pick up on the clues better than anyone."

"I don't mind taking over over here," Sousa offered. He seemed a little quick to stay on intervention duty.

Jack glanced between the two of them. "Fine," he finally said. "Carter, let's go." He felt the two of them exchanging meaningful looks behind him, but Jack just kept walking to the car. He felt a stab of jealousy run through him at how easily the two seemed to get along, seemed to be able to speak to each other without any words, just relying on some deeper connection.

He got in the car and slammed the door. Peggy followed a moment later.

"Something wrong, Chief Thompson?"

Jack took a moment to adjust the rear-view mirror before putting the car in reverse and jerkily turning it around. "Is it his leg again?" he finally asked.

"Beg pardon?"

"Sousa. He's been avoiding stairs whenever possible, and his limp's been getting worse the past few days. What's going on?"

"I didn't realize you cared, Jack." Peggy was staring out the window, looking bored. Jack knew there was more too it though.

"I wouldn't be a very good agent if I didn't notice when one of my men was favoring a leg too heavily."

"He was hoping you wouldn't notice."

Jack didn't know why he ever bothered, when it only made it all sting that much worse. Did Daniel really hate him that much? He made a noise in his throat to prompt her.

"He asked me not to tell. It isn't terribly dramatic, but it would be best for you to ask him yourself, if only to let me keep my word to him on this."

Yeah, that was Peggy, always so loyal, true to her word. No wonder Daniel was so in love with her. Jack just wished he was capable of saying a single honest thing anymore. He wondered if he was so used to living in the lies that he'd forgotten how to do otherwise.

 

* * *

 

 Jack was throwing up again. He was in Danielle's bathroom, curled over her toilet like he was praying to it, the meager remains of the dinner he'd brought over coming up all over the narrow porcelain walls. His right hand gripped the seat, his left the rosary he'd shoved into the pocket of his slacks beside the condom before he'd left the house.

He wondered if the stench of his mouth made his prayers for salvation worth any less. He wondered if that was even possible, or if God had forsaken him too long ago to even consider his words in the first place.

Thompson hadn't always been his name. He didn't tell of it much, but for his early years Jack had been an O'Farrell. His mother had fallen for a young Irish immigrant, and Jack remembered them being happy until he turned into an alcoholic when Jack was eight and walked off the Canarsie pier when he was nine.

He'd been a religious man, and most of the limited memories Jack had of him before he'd shed his accent and thrown his cross in the trash were of their Sunday subway rides to midtown for mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Whenever Jack passed it nowadays, it still looked just as large and intimating as it had when he'd been a kid, tilting his head as far back as it would go while his father led him inside. Jack hadn't stepped foot inside in years, but he didn't have to. He still remembered the carpeted pews with perfect detail, could practically replicate the finely sculpted statues.

Danielle was knocking on the door, calling his name. "I'm fine," Jack hollered back. "All good in here, doll. I picked up dinner from a street vendor, must not have been the freshest. Just give me a minute and I'll be all washed up for you."

Jack had never really reacted like this before. Yeah, sex with women always left him sick to varying degrees, but until now he'd always been able to push through it, always managed to bring himself back to the present enough to at least try to enjoy it a little bit.

Maybe he just needed to get back into it. It had been nearly two months since he'd been with a woman, before Danielle. Maybe he was simply out of practice.

Jack's mother had come from an established Southern family. His grandfather still waved the Confederate flag over their estate and complained about the Yankees. When Jack was home from Japan and visiting him in his old age, he stayed quiet about how they were Yankees too now.

They hadn't approved of Braden O'Farrell from the beginning. He had no money, no standing, no education, no future. But family was family, and after enough begged apologies, the two of them had been reaccepted into the family, only to be sent away again eight months later when she was married off to a northern boy, a young chap originally from Philly who would take her and her ten year old son, and support them well. Christopher Thompson had been good enough, had been kind enough. Jack knew there was never any really love between his mother and the man he slowly but surely grew to call his father, but that was fine. He didn't hit her too hard, or make her work too much, which was as much a woman could ask for.

Christopher had brought a few children of his own to the mix though, after having lost his first wife twelve years earlier to Tuberculosis. And suddenly Jack, always a strong, healthy boy who could walk into a room and own it even before he'd finished the fifth grade, had four older, stronger, brothers who set out to prove their superiority to the "bog-trotter." And though Braden O'Farrell had managed to never lay a finger on his son, that dynamic changed as well. But after eight months and too many bruises from belts and fists, eleven year old Jack came to respect it, not loathe it.

Jack finished retching and spit one last time, flushing the toilet. He watched it all spin around and disappear down the drain. It took him a second to stand again before washing up and heading out to face Danielle.


	4. Trade the Ones That You Love for the Ones You Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some whisperings of dubious consent for a few seconds there.

"What's going on with you?"

Sousa stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "What do you mean?"

Jack dropped the stack of files Sousa had just brought him onto his desk and scratched at his stubbly chin. He'd woken up late that morning, hadn't had time to shave. Again.

"You've been limping around for the past two weeks."

"I've been limping around for the past two years." Sousa's voice was tight. He didn't turn around.

"A few weeks back, when we picked up that 0-8-4. You waited in the car. And then let me take Carter back up to the apartment. You hate running interference."

"It was a third story. Who ever wants to walk up that many stairs?"

"Yeah. Except you've been hobbling around this office ever since." Daniel opened his mouth to try to offer another excuse, but Jack didn't let him. "Listen, Sousa. Carter told me there's something going on. Refused to tell me exactly what. So spill it."

He finally turned around fully, leaning his back against the door. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Since when do you give a shit, Thompson? Why do you suddenly care? Huh?" He was upset, and it just made Jack's stomach twist. His anger flared up, because God forbid Jack Thompson have a healthy reaction to getting hurt.

"Because I'm in charge of this precinct," he growled, "and when one of my agents is hobbling around like a gimp, I need--"

Jack regretted the word choice the moment it was out of his mouth. He saw Daniel's face loosen in shock, his eyes going wide, and then a moment later tighten again, closing off. Jack could see a storm in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to try to fix it, but no words came out.

"Then you'll be really fucking glad that this gimp is tendering his resignation today, in preparation for his move across the country in four months." He slammed the door shut behind him.

Jack buried his face in his hands.

 

He wanted to leave early, call in sick or say he was chasing a lead or some bull like that, and go home to drink until he puked and then drink some more. But he was supposed to cover the evening shift tonight. Cover it with--he checked the schedule hanging on the wall behind his desk, and his stomach twisted--supposed to cover it with Daniel. At least he could drink whatever he had left in the precinct when he was here alone.

When he finally withdrew from his office, long after the sun had set and everyone had left, he almost drew his gun in surprise when he saw Carter, flipping through papers at her desk.

"Ah, Chief Thompson, you're awake."

"Not by my own choice," he grumbled.

"Pardon?"

"Forget about it." He approached her desk, picking up some of the files she was going through. "What are you doing here?"

"Agent Sousa asked me to cover his shift."

"He tell you why?" Jack was trying really hard to be casual, but he knew that Carter was smart. A helluva lot smarter than him, in so many ways.

She hadn't fallen in love with Daniel Sousa, for one. And Jack knew he'd wanted her to.

"He told me he was going to bring in his resignation papers tomorrow." She leaned back in her chair, meeting Jack's eyes. "He is being sent to Los Angeles in a few months." She watched him carefully, gauging how much of this he already knew.

"Yeah," he responded gruffly. "He mentioned it earlier. I didn't have a chance to congratulate him."

"Pity, that." She flipped through her files. "He was going to mail his resignation. He told me he was considering flying out early."

"Mail it?" Jack repeated. He crossed his arms, leaning on her desk and trying not to sound desperate. "Why's he doing that?"

Her hands stilled. "He didn't say. I don't think he wanted to have to say goodbye." Jack saw Peggy's shoulders tense a little bit, and something shook the tiniest bit in her voice, just at the end. She cleared her throat. It was something small, and if Jack had drank a little bit more he probably wouldn't have caught it. But the office was empty, and quiet, the only sounds the rustling of Peggy's files and the October wind howling outside.

Jack tried to sound normal with his "huh," but he was pretty sure Carter didn't buy it. She almost never did. He shrugged and headed downstairs to the evidence locker. There were some pictures from the 0-8-4 he wanted to look over.

 

 

He was bone-tired by the time he made it home that night, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and be unconscious and soon as possible. But someone was passed out in front of his door.

"Bout time," Adam grumbled at him, slowly pulling himself to his feet. Jack didn't offer him a hand, just stepped over him and went to his door.

"Not tonight," was all he said.

"Like hell not tonight," Adam snapped back. He crossed his arms, trying to look impressive. And he was. A lot bigger than Jack, probably stronger too. But also perpetually hopped up, and definitely not as well trained as the agent. "I've been waiting here for hours."

Jack unlocked his door, pocketing his key again. He shrugged. "Therefore? I'm not in the mood tonight."

"Did I ask if you were, faggot?" Jack's hand froze on the door, and Adam grabbed his arm, pushing him into the apartment and following right after. The name hurt even more than it usually did. Probably because he deserved it more than usual, for what he'd said to Sousa.

Adam pushed the door shut behind him, already starting to unbuckle his pants. "Yeah, just some goddamn queen, that's all you are. Right?"

Jack nodded, reaching behind the bigger man to lock the door. "Right," he whispered. He moved methodically, hanging up his jacket, leaving his keys in the basket, taking his gun to his room. He was almost able to tune out the name-calling from the living room.

The first time Adam had called him a fag they hadn't even had sex yet. He'd caught Jack eyeing him from across the bar and approached him, being a lot more graphic in the public setting than Jack had ever dared be before, with women or men. He'd recoiled from it at first, but after Adam had thrown the word around enough, calling Jack a faggot as he stretched him on his own couch, he'd started to settle into it. He didn't deserve much more, did he? The man wasn't wrong.

Jack took a swig of gin in his kitchen and washed his mouth out from it in the bathroom. He kissed his rosary and returned to the living room.


	5. Don't Think I've Ever Used a Day of My Education

"Okay." Jack yanked open the curtains of the living room window, letting the light spill out onto Adam's face. The other man jerked a little bit, and then threw his arms across his eyes. "Time to go." His voice came out scratchy.

"You going to take care of this morning wood for me first, faggot?" Adam spread his legs obscenely.

"No." Jack was tired and cranky and his jaw still ached. "Get the hell out of my apartment."

Adam just yawned and rolled over, turning his back to the sun--and to Jack.

The sounds of morning traffic were already filtering in from the outside, and Jack knew it was going to take him way too long to get to work. Every minute this bum stayed on his couch was another five of getting to work. "I don't have time for this." He pulled his gun out of its holster, pointing it at Adam. "Get the hell out of my house." The click of the releasing safety echoed through the room, a sound recognizable enough that it got the sleeping man's attention enough to make him roll back over and squint up at Jack.

As soon as his brain connected the dots and realized there was a gun pointed at his face, he scrambled to his feet, yanking his pants up and buckling them again. He'd fallen asleep the previous night immediately after getting off, his pants still around his ankles and his shoes still on. Jack had no sympathy for the crick he probably had in his neck from the uncomfortable position.

"You're a crazy bastard," Adam muttered, fumbling for his keys and jacket.

"Yeah, but you've still got low stamina," he retorted. "Now get out of here." Adam looked like he was about to say something, maybe an attempt at a defense, but Jack just gestured to the door with his gun, and the man left, muttering more insults as he stalked away.

Jack gargled some more mouthwash before leaving for work.

 

"Good morning, Chief Thompson."

"Morning, Carter."

She turned in her desk as he walked past. "Are you alright, Jack? You sound a bit hoarse."

"I'm just dandy, Marge." He tried not to slam his office door.

She followed after him a moment later, but before she could say anything Jack swept up the piece of paper from his desk, placed perfectly in front of his chair, on top of all of the work he'd left there overnight. It was folded neatly into thirds, just the words NOTICE OF RESIGNATION peaking out from the top. "What the hell is this?"

"Agent Sousa dropped it off this morning. We crossed paths just as he was leaving."

Jack crumbled up the form and dropped it in the trash. "What do you want, Carter?"

"I thought I would offer to make you some coffee."

"Really?" Jack leaned back in his chair. "You hate making anyone coffee. What's the occasion?"

"We have our interrogation of the 0-8-4 today." He wondered if that was her answering or changing the subject.

"No sugar. Splash of cream." He paused. "Thanks."

"I'll leave it in the interrogation room?" she asked. But Thompson didn't respond, already focused on his paperwork again.

 

"Just tell me when this started." Jack was starting to get a little bit desperate here. His coffee hadn't kicked in yet, and he wasn't used to interrogating people that he couldn't hit.

The 0-8-4 shrugged at him. He hadn't said much in the twenty minutes Jack had been standing over him, and the agent was at his wit's end.

"Give me a name, give me a date, or a location. Just something." He needed Daniel here. They were meant to be a team. Jack couldn't handle this "speak softly" thing. He was the big stick guy of the pair.

Christopher Thompson was well-educated, charismatic, and well-spoken. He took Jack in like he was one of his own. He was also strict, firm, and expected nothing less than perfection. The first time Jack came home with a B in English, he'd gotten a beating for it. There were no negotiations, no disappointed sentiments. Jack was a Thompson now. And Thompsons didn't get B's.

"Chief?" Peggy poked her head around the door. Sighing in frustration, Jack picked up his coffee and met her outside. "Perhaps I can take a moment with him? Seeing as how this isn't your usual setup."

She knew just how miserably he was failing. She always did, no matter how hard he tried to cover it up. "Knock yourself out." He stepped aside, allowing Peggy to enter the room, and took up her spot in the viewing room instead.

"We're not your enemies here," was the first thing Carter said.

"Oh yeah?" The man leaned forward in his seat, looking up at her with fire in his eyes. "Because the way I see it, the second I give you anything to go on you lock me up. I got no incentive to speak."

Peggy sat down across from him, making herself comfortable. "As of right now, we have no proper charges against you. The SSR can hold you for as long as we like, but we have nothing against you to give over to the police." She paused. "Except for willful obstruction of ongoing investigations, and a lack of cooperation with SSR forces."

"What ongoing investigations?" He sounded almost curious.

"That man who was in here?" Peggy leaned closer to him across the table. "Chief Thompson? He has a very bad temper, and a talent for making things up."

"Are you threatening me, lady?"

She stood up again swiftly. "I'm telling you it is in your best interest to cooperation."

"I don't want to end up in some lab with evil scientists trying to poke me with needles."

"The Strategic Scientific Reserve already has all the tissue samples of you that we need." She stepped out and closed the door behind her, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts.


	6. If You Wanna Make It Through the Night

Jack shifted uncomfortably as he waited for Danielle to open the door. One hand held a mostly full bottle of whiskey while the other balanced a tray of pizza, still piping hot and burning through to Jack's fingers.

Danielle swung the door open, eagerly taking the tray from him and pulling away the paper bag covering it. She stepped aside to let him in.

"New pizzeria opened up on your block," he informed her. "Decided to find out if it was any good."

"Perfect. I was just thinking about checking that place out."

Jack sat down on her couch, waiting for her to bring some plates. When she sat down across from him, she paused a minute, appraising, before handing his dish over.

"What's the occasion?" she asked. Jack had left work a few minutes early, just enough time to go home and change before coming over here. He'd switched out the pinstripes for loose slacks, ditched the jacket in the hopes the unseasonably warm weather would stick, and abandoned the tie. When he took a bite out of his pizza, he could feel Danielle's eyes tracking the swallowing motion of his naked throat.

"Nothing." He smiled at her, trying to be charming, but she just rolled her eyes.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Finally, Danielle spoke up. "So I was talking to a friend of mine, Anne. Pretty girl, pale skin, walks with a bit of a limp. Told her I had this blond fellow over every week, told her he's something of a looker, carries a gun." She took a bite of her pizza before continuing. "You remember her?"

Pale skin, walks with a limp. Jack remembered her. He nodded jerkily. It had been a hot Friday night in July, almost a year and a half ago, if Jack was remembering right and not getting all confused. "What about her?"

"Well, she told me the sex had been astounding." She took another bite and set her slice down. "I've always figured you had it in you, and I was just waiting for it to come out. But I'm getting tired of waiting for the good stuff, Jack."

He moved suddenly then, whether out of a desire to prove her wrong or out of fear that she'd leave him and he'd have to find someone else who wouldn't notice him moaning a man's name. But Danielle seemed surprised at how quickly he moved around the table, scooping her up from her seat and carrying her to the bedroom, stopping only long enough to swipe up the bottle of whiskey from the table.

Jack had limited his touch a lot these past few weeks. When he was with Danielle, he avoided touching her breasts, her sex, as much as possible. Instead, he focused on her flat stomach, on her smooth thighs and soft lips, on all the parts of her that he could almost pretend belonged to someone else. But tonight, he was too soft for any of that. He didn't know why he'd come over at all, honestly, but it was such a part of the routine that he couldn't help it, even if every step of the way he'd kind of expected that he would fail in the end.

He kissed all the way down her body, his hands and lips finally introducing themselves to the parts they'd avoided, his tongue exploring her in brand new ways. She pulled his hair and moaned, and even if the smell of her made his stomach turn and he was barely drunk enough to tolerate any of it, her nails digging into his scalp and gouging lines in his shoulders felt good, at least.

He drank whiskey from her lips, licked it off her stomach. The room spun around him. Jack didn't go for the condom in his pants pocket, nor for the rosary beside it.

Danielle wanted him to stay the night. She told him that he was too drunk to drive, and they didn't have to stop this. But Jack just kissed her chastely and picked up his hat from her coffee table, leaving without another word.

He was proud of himself, that he made it all the way out of her building and down the block to his car before he threw up.

 

"Evening, officer."

"License and registration please, sir."

"No problem, officer."

"Have you been drinking, sir?"

"No worries here, officer. I'm a government agent. I've got my badge right here."

"Right where, sir?"

"Shit."

 

Jack sagged against the wall, nursing the glass of water he'd been given while he listened to the phone ring. It wasn't even eleven yet. If no one picked up, he'd have to wait until morning.

"Hello?" The boy who picked up sounded very sleepy. Jack was just glad this was one of those apartment buildings with a phone. This wasn't the first time he'd called it.

"Will you fetch Daniel Sousa for me? He lives in Room 103." His throat tightened when he said the name. This was already a mistake.

"It's 10:45, sir."

"There's fifty cents in it for you if you get him. Tell him," Jack paused, wetting his lips, "Tell him his grandmother has taken ill. Use those words."

"Fifty cents?" The punk didn't even care about any grandmothers.

"Tell Mr. Sousa to give it to you."

"Hold on." Jack held on, counting the seconds and praying that Daniel wouldn't ignore the SSR code phrase.

"I quit just this morning," someone finally grumped on the other line. Jack had never been happier to hear Sousa's voice.

"This is a personal call." He waited for Sousa to recognize his voice and hang up on him. "I screwed up, I need your help. Do you still have that extra key to my apartment?"

 

When Daniel Sousa showed up with Jack's badge and identification papers, he looked pissed as all hell, but Jack had never been happier to see him.

"Why'd you call me?" where the first words out of his mouth after Jack was released and walking towards him. "Anyone could have broken in to your house for you."

Jack ducked his head, suddenly shy. "I don't know anyone else who would come."

"I almost didn't."

"I know." It hurt Jack to say it. "You were still my best shot."

"That's a pretty shitty best shot."

"I know," he said again. "Will you give me a ride to my car? Jail sobered me up."

Daniel sighed, but nodded all the same.

"I'm not accepting your resignation, by the way," Jack said as they walked through the station doors. It was after midnight, and it was cold again. Jack shivered.

"Why not?"

"Because you've been my partner here for almost a year." Jack glanced up at Daniel, and then back down at his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I would have been killed a dozen times over if you didn't have my back, and I don't know how I'll avoid getting shot in the chest after you leave New York. That's why I asked about your leg. Because you're my partner, not because you're my agent."

"I've been called a helluva lot worse than a gimp." Daniel was trying to keep his tone conversational, but his voice was strained. "But that was the first time I've had to get that from someone I've gone out for drinks with."

They got into the car. Jack hung his head, ashamed. "I don't think of you like that," he mumbled. "I only said it because it's not true."

"I'm missing my leg, Jack." Sousa just sounded tired at this point. "It's true."

Jack could hear the hurt in his voice, wondered how he could fix it. He didn't look at Daniel when he spoke up again. "Someone called me a faggot yesterday. It hurts like hell to hear, and I don't have to walk around with that visible to the whole world, not like you do."

Daniel was very quiet for a very long time, mulling over this new information. "I got an infection," he finally said. "The stump was supposed to be stabilized, but they had to cut off a little bit more a few weeks ago. I got a new leg, and I've just been working on adjusting to it. It still hurts to lean on, will for a while now. I'm going to start up physical therapy again when I get out west."

"Thanks for telling me."

Daniel bobbed his head in response.

They pulled up beside Jack's car. He hesitated before getting out. "Nobody raided your desk for pencils while you were away today. You going to be there tomorrow?"

Daniel hesitated, and it seemed to last a century. "I'll be there."

It hurt Jack to have to get out of that car, to have to put more distance between them. "Good night, Daniel."

"Good night, Jack." He spoke quietly.

Jack slammed the car door shut, and watched Daniel drive away. He stood there, in the middle of the quiet street, for several minutes before finally getting into his own car and driving home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I know A Lot about police procedure.


	7. Make It a Good One

"The explosion changed him. And I don't just mean on the outside. I'd always been the quiet one, Thomas was friendly, he was the loud one." Jack tried not to get frustrated with the 0-8-4, his fingers curled around the piece of paper. He'd written down an address for them, and Carter was busy trying to coax it out of his hands. Jack tried not to tap his foot in impatience. He almost wished he were back on the other side of the glass, where he could at least pace.

"Your friend hasn't committed any crimes. Just like you," Peggy reminded him gently. "If he has some memory of this explosion, he can help us get one step closer to discovering the source of these changes."

"The Thomas that you meet isn't the real him," he kept insisting. Jack had to restrain himself from pulling the paper from the man's fingers. He might have had unbreakable skin, but Jack could still take him down.

"We know," Peggy said, patient as ever. "We have no intention of hurting your friend. Correct, Chief Thompson?"

"Yeah, yeah." He was barely listening to the conversation. Daniel was peering in through the small window at them.

"Can we have the address now?" Peggy asked kindly. The 0-8-4 hesitated, but then nodded, releasing the crumbled up paper. It was hard for Jack not to snatch it up and bolt.

 

"Wallace, Fisher, you're with me and Sousa." Jack stormed into the bullpen, already running at full-steam. The officers sprang into action. "Scully, Mulder, and Carter are backup. We're dealing with an 0-8-4, potentially hostile." He looked around at the gathered agents, unloading and reloading his pistol while he spoke. "We're going in as friendlies, this man has information we need. But the second things go south, we take him down. Tranqs if we can, bullets if we can't. We clear?" Everyone nodded. "Let's go."

 

The duplex was silent. They'd come at late morning, and the Astoria street had long since cleared out, everyone heading to work.

Jack hoped they were right about this one. He hoped no one else was home.

He flexed his fingers around the grip of his pistol as he climbed the three steps to the front door. Sousa was right behind him, taking up position on the other side of the door while Jack raised his hand to knock. He glanced at their surroundings, at Wallace and Fisher kneeling on the other side of their car, guns resting on the hood and aimed at the front door. He knew that Carter had taken the other two agents around the side, ready to jump in when necessary.

Lastly, Jack met Sousa's eyes. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead. Sousa nodded firmly, and Jack nodded back. It took him a second to tear his gaze away again, to not say something very wrong. He knocked on the front door.

"CIA," he announced. It was close enough to the truth, and a lot less wordy than "covert government agency assigned to the weird cases that you've never heard of" whenever they were on door duty and the like.

"Go away," someone growled, low and deep. The sound made the hairs on the back of Jack's neck stand up.

"We'd like to talk to you, Thomas." He kept his voice level. There was nothing to be afraid of. Not yet, at least.

He hadn't expected a warm greeting, but he also hadn't expected _that_. The door flew outwards, tearing off its hinges and landing on the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding bringing Sousa with it. The man who stormed out was glowing. Literally. His eyes had rolled back in his head, blazing white, and light radiated off his whole body. He was almost hard to look at.

He threw up his arm at the police car, and a ball of...heat? light? shot out from it and hit the vehicle squarely with enough impact to send it flying. Wallace and Fisher barely managed to avoid getting carried with it too.

Jack shot him. He'd counted his rounds on the way over, first three were tranqs, last five were bullets. The SSR had developed it.

Thomas yanked the tranq out of his shoulder, rounding to face Jack. He was a large man, and the eerie glow surrounding him didn't help that. Jack took a step back when he took a step forward, and shot him again, in the side of the neck. He saw the glow strengthen in that spot. A dot of blood still dribbled out of the puncture wound, though.

The temperature rose as Thomas approached. "His body is burning through the chemicals," Sousa shouted to him, just as Jack put the pieces together himself. He quickly shot off the third tranq, but he could feel the gun starting to jam even as he did so. Shit.

"Over here, you stupid son of a bitch!" Sousa shot the man in the shoulder.

It all happened very fast. Thomas spun around, ready to hurl another heat ball. Jack threw his gun to his ground just as he got ready to throw it, shouting Daniel's name as he dove in front of him, shoving the brunette out of the way just as the heat ball reached him. Another round was fired, cracking through the air, and Thomas fell sideways, but there was no thud when he fell.

 

"Jack!" Daniel dropped to the ground beside Thompson. "Jack, you idiot!" He rolled him over desperately, trying to find a wound, something to fix. The front of his jacket was seared off, the buttons on his shirt hot to the touch when Daniel fumbled them open, but everything seemed to be okay on that end. Daniel ran his hands up Jack's chest, let his fingers wander over his face. There was a burn all along the left side, nothing that wouldn't heal up quick, ending in a bump on his temple.

Daniel sighed in relief. Just a concussion, he guessed.

He kept his palm pressed against Jack's cheek for a few moments more.

 

The whole scene was already cleared up by the time Jack came to less than ten minutes later, propped up on the steps of the neighbor's house. Sousa was sitting next to him. "What...?" he tried. He couldn't hear his own voice at first, and he took a second to shake it, try to clear it. When he cleared his throat, the sound was back again.

"It's taken care of," Daniel answered. "We're back to square one, but the area is secured."

"Back to square one?" he echoed.

"Carter shot Thomas in the head right after you pulled that stunt of yours."

"Stunt?" Jack's brain wasn't working well enough yet for him to do more than repeat Sousa's words back to him.

"When you risked your life just now? Jumping in front of me? That stunt."

Jack struggled to sit up properly, rubbing his head. His whole face hurt, like he'd been punched but hotter. "Just trying to return the favor," he rasped. He mimed drinking from a water bottle, and Daniel quickly passed over his. Their hands brushed as Jack took it, but neither one of them pulled away too fast.

"You put your life at risk for me. There's no way of knowing what that ball could have done to you."

Jack shrugged, and then winced. "Well, like I said. I'm just returning the favor." He tried to stand up, but everything ached, like he'd had prolonged exposure to the cold, not a burst of heat. "I might take a day or two off though."

Daniel laughed at his face contorting from pain. "Yeah, you do that." He nodded towards the street where they'd parked before. "Might want to ask someone for a ride though." He grinned at Jack. Jack forced a smile back.

"Yeah, I'll try to find someone."


	8. I Got the Final Judgement

"Came to check up on me? You shouldn't have." Jack pulled open the door to greet Sousa.

"Don't worry, I just came to get my fifty cents back before you died." He walked past him into the small apartment.

"What's in the bag?" Whatever it was it smelled great. Jack had spent most of the day lying in bed, repeatedly opening a book just to close it again when his headache threatened to return, and listening to the radio. It had been intensely boring, and he hoped he'd be able to get back to work the next day.

He hadn't even gotten properly dressed. When Sousa had knocked on the door, he'd still be in an undershirt and boxers.

"I went to pick up some chop suey on my way," Daniel said, setting the bag on the table and starting to unpack it. "But then I passed by that knish shop--you know the one--and had to buy some of those too."

"It is a damn good potato knish," Jack agreed. He grabbed some forks and knives from the kitchen, and sat down hard in his easy chair. Daniel settled into the couch, his stomach making angry noises at the sight of the food. He hadn't eaten much all day.

Daniel cut off a piece of his knish and held it up like a toast. "To greasy street food."

"To concussions," Jack answered. They both took their first bite. The rest followed quickly.

 

The soft tones of Frank Sinatra blended in with the street noises filtering in through the open window. It was almost December, and the city knew it. But it was warm inside, the two agents curled up their chairs with some old blankets, laughing about old cases they'd worked.

"You know, it's a lot of history for just a year," Sousa said in a moment of sobriety, after they'd both quieted down from a good bout of nostalgia.

"It has been a pretty busy year." Jack put his empty beer on the table. The doctor had told him not to drink too much, but this wasn't a night of playing by the rules. Especially not when Sousa licked his lips like that, bringing Jack straight back into his miserable old self.

"I really am going to miss New York," Daniel admitted. "Everyone here is a bastard, but I'm going to miss this place."

They both fell silent, Jack's jaw working as he tried to think of a good enough response. "Speaking of bastards," he finally said, leaning back and grinning again. "Remember Dooley, all the way at the beginning? He had his panties all in a wad for the whole first month after our branch opened, at least."

Daniel laughed with him, and the tense mood was broken. "Yeah, I remember that. Would get on you for the tiniest slip ups, he was so obsessed with fighting the good fight." He leaned back in his seat. "Can you blame him though? For wanting us to shape up from the start? God knows we were a mess in the beginning."

"Yeah, he did do a damn fine job," Jack agreed. He licked his lips. "And I'm sure you will too, out west next year." He looked down at his empty beer bottle and then back up. "Rose already warned me that she's putting in a transfer request next week. Anyone else I have to wonder about you stealing from me?"

Daniel grinned at him. "Fisher told me he's interested, but that's all I know at the moment."

"Well, you give me some forewarning if I've got any more deserters, okay?"

"Deserters?" Daniel echoed. He scoffed. "We're fighting the good fight, just like you!"

"Yeah, you say that now. But if you move across the country, who's next? The Dodgers?"

"You comparing me to a national baseball league, Thompson?"

"Easy does it, I've got a bat in my room, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Try me, Chief." There was no challenge in Sousa's eyes, only amusement, and Jack was almost disappointed. A part of him (a small, masochistic part) wanted to actually spar with Daniel, wanted any excuse or opportunity to touch him, however briefly.

"You should probably be heading back. It's late." It wasn't what Jack wanted to say, but he had to anyway. "Thanks for bringing food." They both stood up, and Jack shook Daniel's hand. He didn't want to let go.

"You still owe me my money," Daniel reminded him.

"I guess you'll have to swing by again then, some time before I die."

"I guess so." They were standing in the doorway, and Daniel was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Jack was trying and failing not to stare at it. It was just so distracting.

"So I'll see you at work, then? Day after tomorrow?"

"Sounds good." Daniel started out the door, but then he stopped himself, turning back around. "Jack--"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. Again. For saving my life."

Jack searched his eyes. There was something new in there, something he didn't recognize. "Partners for a year, right? I'd do it all over again." They both hovered there for a few seconds, and then Daniel moved, slowly at first and then very quickly, like he was coming to a decision and just moving forward with it, for better or worse. He stepped back into the apartment, leaning heavily on his crutch to reach up and kiss Jack. He pulled away immediately, staggering back a step.

"I probably shouldn't have done that." He ducked his head, blushing. "I just really wanted to, ever since what you said in my car." He turned to go, but Jack grabbed his arm.

"No." His voice was hoarse. He cleared it, and tried again. "No," he said again, stronger. "It's okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do way too much research on New York City street food in the 1940s? Yes. Yes I did. (Also, a lot of research on condoms and inflation. Uncorrelated.)


	9. I'm Not Gonna Think About That Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hai look it's pr0n. Also! There's a flashback to some non-explicit underage/dub-con! I've updated the tags to include it. Please take care!

Jack hated how much restraint he had to show. He hated that he had to be careful when he pulled Daniel back into the room, that he had to be slow when he ducked down and kissed him back, that he had to pretend that he wasn't dehydrated and that Daniel wasn't the first drink of fresh water he'd had in three years.

He had to fist his hand against Daniel's waist to keep from grabbing him and pulling him closer. He had to pretend he hadn't dreamed about right now for the past year. But Daniel was kissing him, his warm hands coming up to Jack's cheeks, leaning on him for support, and Jack's mind was blank, so overcome with need.

Daniel pulled back first, and Jack started to follow him, chasing his lips, but then Daniel tried to speak and he came back to himself enough to listen. "I've been trying to figure this out for so long," he was saying. Jack moved from his lips to his eyes, and he saw the longing and confusion there, wondered how his own looked, wondered how much his pupils were dilated. "I loved Peggy for a really long time, but I never wanted her like...never like this. Never like right this moment." He sounded almost breathless. Jack wondered if his heart was racing as fast as his own.

He opened his mouth, tried really hard to think of a thoughtful response, but no sound came out.

"You stay like that, you're going to catch some flies," Daniel teased him, as though anything could lighten this mood. Jack shook his head, trying to laugh it off, but he felt his throat closing up, and his fingers tangled in Daniel's hair as he bent down again, kissing him hot and wet and _needy_  as his free hand fumbled to close and lock the door behind them.

Daniel let Jack guide him back into the apartment, dropping his crutch along the way so he could properly grab at Jack's waist and arms and the back of his neck, letting the blonde support him to the bedroom.

It was a mess, and if Jack had even a small part of his brain devoted to something that wasn't the way Daniel tasted, he would probably be embarrassed by the dirty laundry on the floor and the twisted sheets, the bottles of lube and bourbon still sitting next to his bed from the last time.

Daniel was leaning too heavily on Jack to completely lose his balance, but he still almost fell onto the bed, leaning back on his elbows as he watched Jack pull his undershirt off and climb on top of him, kissing him again.

When Daniel's hips jerked up again Jack's, he saw stars. Nothing had ever felt like this. It took a lot of control for him to tear his mouth away and sit up, pinning Daniel's legs beneath his own. He marveled at the man beneath him, his hair rumpled from Jack's hands and his lips red and swollen. He was just lying there, boneless, and he just looked so pliable and Jack just _needed_  him.

He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he reached down, methodically undoing his buttons one by one, moving downwards and revealing Daniel's smooth, pale chest. He couldn't help himself, he bent over, kissing the bare skin, giving his nipple an experimental lick. The way Daniel moaned stirred something deep in the pit of Jack's stomach, and he rushed to get Daniel's shirt all the way off.

"Wait." Jack almost missed the small command, whispered between moans, but he froze, drawing back from his ministrations to Daniel's upper body. He sat up, waiting expectantly. "I," Daniel hesitated on the small word, "I've never done this before."

"Do you want to?" Jack asked, trying to keep his voice calm and knowing that if Daniel said no, he would probably die.

"More than anything," Daniel assured him, like he could sense the anxiety that Jack was trying to hide. He knew him so well, knew that Jack was so scared of being so exposed and chancing being hurt. He knew how tremendous this was for him, this vulnerability, and it just made Jack want him even more.

"I'll show you how," he promised. "It's just like with the girls, you've just got to go a bit slower with me."

Daniel nodded slowly. "For the longest time, I've wanted this, and I've tried to hide it, tried to fancy the regular dames, but it was never the same." He trailed his fingers down Jack's chest, following the trail of hair on his stomach to the edge of his boxers. "I never looked at any of them the way I looked at some of the boys. And now--" he shook his head, "--I'm here, with you, and I don't know what I'm doing."

Jack rested his hand on top of Daniel's. "It's okay. Let me teach you. Okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

 

He'd been sixteen, dressed to the nines at one of his father's fancy dinner parties, his mother's makeup hiding a bruise around his eye. (He'd borrowed one of his brother's new ballpoint pens. Not because he'd needed it; he just wanted to piss him off.)

Christopher Thompson was showing him around, introducing him to some old war buddies. Jack was dead bored of all of these people, but he'd already snuck a drink and it hadn't helped at all, so he just plastered on his smile and continued making small talk. As much as he hated these people, he needed them, needed what they offered him. Jack knew it. His father knew it. All of the men meeting Christopher Thompson's youngest, just home for summer from boarding school toting his straight-As, they knew it.

"Jackie!" He'd almost cried in relief when Uncle Vernon showed up, stealing him from his father and leading him away. There was no relation, but Vernon Masters had been an old war buddy of his father, and had frequented their estate when Jack was younger. He hadn't seen him in almost two years, the man returning from a long business trip to Europe only just after Jack left for Exeter.

He stayed close to the man for the rest of the evening; things were always much more interesting was Uncle Vernon was around. He was well-respected and powerful, and he used that as an excuse to do whatever he wanted. It was a power play, he explained to Jack once. If you piss off people who can't do anything to you, they learn just how capable you are, and that gets you all the more power.

As the event was winding to a close, Jack had walked Vernon back to the estate's guest house. "Pity my wife wasn't able to make it tonight," he told Jack. "She hasn't seen you in ages. Make sure you come by for dinner some time this week." Jack nodded along obediently, and Vernon Masters gestured for him to come inside. He offered Jack a drink and proceeded to explain to him some more of how politics work, of how you need to do favors, sometimes compromise on things you don't feel wholly comfortable with, to get what you need in the end. He'd been gentle when he explained to Jack what he wanted him to compromise on just then, patient and kind when he explained how it worked, never pushing him too hard, but always pushing him. Jack had hesitated for a while, drank some more fancy liquor, told him he didn't know how. Vernon Masters had used those same words that Jack said to Daniel. "Let me teach you."

 

He taught him slowly, reaching across to the table, grabbing the bottle of lube. He guided Daniel's fingers into the bottle, reaching in and helping him slick up just for the opportunity to entangle their fingers. He kept his mouth moving against Daniel's lips, jaw, neck, as he did so. Guiding his hand around to his back was almost second nature. "Just start with one," he whispered against Daniel's ear, giving it a small lick. "I'll tell you when to change it up."

"Just like a dame?" Daniel left his fingers hovering at Jack's entrance, and he had to restrain himself from pressing back needily. Daniel sounded so nervous, and Jack just wanted the shakiness in his voice to disappear. He kissed the soft spot behind his ear, humming an affirmation.

When Daniel finally slipped in, Jack almost cried. This was all he had wanted for the past year, and now he was finally getting it. Jack almost pinched himself, because he had had this dream so many times that it was hard to wrap his head around the reality of it.

He returned to moving down Daniel's bare chest, his body curling in on itself so the other man wouldn't have to do more than prop himself up on an elbow to keep pushing his finger in and out.

Jack kissed Daniel's tip, licked at the base. The way he made the other man cry out... Jack buzzed with it, felt high with Daniel's reaction. He pulled away, and he tasted salt. "You can put the second one in now," he told Daniel. "Try scissoring." Daniel nodded along, and if Jack was in a different position than this one, he would probably make a rude comment about his dumbstruck face, and then probably kiss him.

Instead, he just went back to sucking Daniel all the way down. Daniel was sitting up now, letting Jack wiggle so far back he slid off the bed, giving him a better angle. He jerked when, only a minute or two later, a third finger was added to the mix.

"Sorry," Daniel said hurriedly, but Jack twisted around and grabbed his wrist before Daniel could pull out. He hummed, trying to make Daniel feel half as good as he did. He wondered if _anyone_  could feel half as good as he did, right then.

It felt weird, Jack wasn't going to lie. Normally when he did this there was always a certain amount of juggling of limbs, of rearranging body parts so no one's got squished or twisted in ways they weren't supposed to. But Jack was able to settle in quite comfortably, didn't have to worry about that at all.

After a few more minutes of that, of Daniel sliding his fingers in and out, Jack forced himself to withdraw, pulling off of Daniel's fingers. "You taste really good," he whispered.

"Yeah? You do a sample survey?"

"Too much." The words weren't meant to come out so brutally honest, so raw, and the look of surprise of Daniel's face mimicked Jack's own.

He tried to get back to the task at hand, fumbling for a few seconds while he picked up the jar of lube again. "How do you want to do this?" he asked.

"I think I'd better stay over here," Daniel admitted. He looked almost embarrassed to say the words, and Jack touched his face gently, cupped the back of his neck. He wondered how often girls actually gave him the opportunity, actually asked him for a preference before assuming they would have to do all the work.

"Good. I like you over there," Jack declared, climbing up to get in his lap. He grabbed the headboard for leverage. When Daniel gave him a small smile, his heart soared. "However," he added, kissing him again, "If you do want to try to switch it up, I can handle some weight. I'm not going to break so easy."

"You sure about that?" Daniel retorted, his hands going to Jack's hips. "Was that meant to be some kind of challenge?"

In response, Jack let his tongue dart out from between his teeth, trying to be sexy, and sank down slowly onto Daniel. It was so hard for him to relax his muscles when their bodies were this close.

The second he was in, the smirk was gone, and Jack had to hold back a groan. Nothing in his life had ever felt this good. Not his mom's homemade pie, not that time he caught his older brother unawares and clocked him hard enough he slid across the ground a few inches, not even that time President Truman shook his hand.

He moved up and down, slowly at first, and then gaining speed as he loosened up more. After a few minutes, Daniel grabbed his hips, taking control of the speed and even making a few attempts to buck up to meet him. He hit the sweet spot, and Jack actually almost cried.

Daniel stopped him after what felt like only a few seconds, but Jack's stiffy informed him it was a lot longer than that.

"You okay, Danny-boy?" His voice was rough with desire.

Daniel tightened his grip on Jack's hips and lifted him off him, momentarily startling Jack. He'd been with guys who were physically stronger than him, been man-handled a lot, but rarely like this, and he'd never forgotten it. Daniel had a lot of power in his arms, and Jack got more excited just at the thought of it.

"Let's try this," Daniel decided. He sat up, pushing Jack hard onto the bed, and pinning his wrists above his head. Jack moved his legs obediently and closed his eyes, loving the pressure of Daniel's warm fingers holding his arms in place. Even if it was for leverage, or for balance, Jack pretended that he couldn't break out of the hold even if he wanted to.

Daniel kissed him, hard and fierce, and then pushed back in. He kept kissing him, breathing ragged, as he pistoned in and out. Jack just lay there, eyes shut, focusing on the sensation of it. The feel of Jack moving in and out of him, the slight pressure when his stomach pressed against Jack's tip, the way the whole bed shifted every now and again, when Daniel decided to go a little bit rougher.

Daniel finished just before him, letting out a small cry. Feeling him filling him up set Jack off right after him, finishing harder than he ever had, making a mess of both their stomachs. Daniel kept kissing him the whole way through, only slipping out and rolling onto his side after Jack relaxed beneath him.

"How," Jack's voice cracked and he tried again, "How was that? For a first time?"

Daniel reached up and entangled his fingers in Jack's. He hadn't drawn his hands back down after they'd been released, too exhausted down to the bone. "Incredible. How did I do? For a novice?"

In answer, Jack forced himself to roll onto his side, kissing Daniel gently, cupping his jaw and holding him in place. He had no intentions of letting go any time soon.

 

Jack forgot about the rosary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Google think I'm going to boarding school? Yes, yes it does. It also thinks I'm having a lot of gay sex and eating greasy street food. /shrug

**Author's Note:**

> I did more research than this fic probably warranted. If you have any questions about #that40slyf that pertain to this fic, I've probably done research on it. Conversely, if you are an expert on #that40slyf and I've written something grossly inaccurate, let me know! I love learning!
> 
> If you want to cry with me over JackDaniels, or bamf Peggy Carter, or supersoldier boyfriends, or just cry with me, I'm on the tumbz at biromanticdanielsousa. But don't let that stop you from leaving comments and kudos here! Thank you for reading!!
> 
> (Maybe now I'll finally start working on that fic for the Steve/Bucky Big Bang, hmm?)


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